


The Fire

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Concerned Geralt, Fluff with a side of angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Realisations of love, Soft Boys, The mature warning is for the graphic depictions of being stuck in a burning building, cause she's soft, is that even a thing?, scared Geralt, yeas Roach gets a mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23430679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: A small smile twitched his lips as he approached the village but then he felt Roach tense under him, her ears flattening, her nostrils quivering.Geralt sniffed the air.He could smell smoke.He spurred Roach on.As the village came into view, Geralt could see huge columns of thick black smoke billowing into the night air. Several of the buildings glowed orange with flames.Then his heart stopped, and his stomach plummeted. The tavern was on fire. The tavern where he had left Jaskier. It was ablaze with huge tongues of fire that licked at the sky.He leaped off Roach, weariness forgotten, and sprinted into the village.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 225





	The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Geralt grunted as his feet were knocked from under him and he fell heavily to the ground.

The Kikimora screeched in triumph as it lunged towards him.

The Witcher rolled to the side just in time as a spiked leg jabbed at the ground where his head had been a moment before.

He scrambled to his feet, brandishing his silver sword and wiping swamp muck from his face.

The beast swung at him again and Geralt ducked, thrusting his sword up and he felt it connect with flesh.

The Kikimora hissed as the limb buckled and Geralt took his chance to end the monster. He jumped forwards, slamming the point of his blade down through the creature’s head and following it through until the sword dug into the ground.

He ripped the sword out in one fluid movement and the Kikimora crumpled, twitching slightly as life drifted away.

Geralt stood for a moment, panting as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

He could feel the elixir he had taken before the fight wearing off and a wave of exhaustion crashed through him.

Glancing at his reflection in the stained blade he could see his pitch-black eyes returning to their usual amber and his wax white skin flushing pink again.

He sheathed his sword and stepped round the hulking mass of the Kikimora, making his way back to the clearing where he had left Roach. 

The chestnut mare whickered in greeting. She bumped Geralt with her nose as he fiddled with her girth.

“I’m okay,” he hummed, “It was a young one. Easy enough.”

Roach scuffed the earth with her hoof and Geralt chuckled.

“At least the coin was good, and if Jaskier played tonight, we’ll have plenty to keep us going for a while,” he patted her soft nose then swung up onto her back. His weary limbs shook with the effort, but he quickly settled himself in the saddle and turned Roach back towards the village.

As he left the swamp behind and wove between the clusters of trees, his mind flitted to the Bard.

Jaskier had begrudgingly agreed to stay behind as Geralt went out to hunt down the Kikimora that had been terrorising the village, on the condition that when Geralt got back, he would let Jaskier try out some ideas for his newest ballad on him.

Geralt tried not to involve himself when Jaskier started composing, but the brightness of those big blue eyes and the softness of that pleading smile had Geralt rolling his eyes and agreeing. Only Jaskier could get away with something like that.

He knew nothing about music and song writing so he would be absolutely no help but Jaskier seemed to enjoy having him to bounce ideas off of, even if Geralt just usually sat in silence. The Bard had this uncanny ability to have a full conversation with himself, state a problem, throw around some ideas, solve the problem, without any input from the Witcher at all. Occasionally Geralt would grunt or ‘Hm’ in agreement but, more often than not, just resigned himself to try and enjoy Jaskier’s focus and enthusiasm.

A small smile twitched his lips as he approached the village but then he felt Roach tense under him, her ears flattening, her nostrils quivering.

Geralt sniffed the air.

He could smell smoke.

He spurred Roach on.

As the village came into view, Geralt could see huge columns of thick black smoke billowing into the night air. Several of the buildings glowed orange with flames.

Then his heart stopped, and his stomach plummeted. The tavern was on fire. The tavern where he had left Jaskier. It was ablaze with huge tongues of flame that licked at the sky.

He leaped off Roach, weariness forgotten, and sprinted into the village.

There were people running about, some screaming, some barking orders for water from the well. There were people supporting others as they carried them to safety. There were people shouting for loved ones. There were people wailing and shrieking as they succumbed to their injuries.

It was loud and the stench of smoke was overwhelming, and Geralt’s eyes had already started to sting.

In all the chaos, he couldn’t see Jaskier.

His heart twisted painfully.

Geralt skidded to a halt in front of the tavern and looked around wildly.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed.

He spotted one of the barmaids and grabbed her as she ran past. She squeaked in shock.

“The Bard,” Geralt snarled in her face, “Where’s the Bard?”

“I-I don’t-“ she jerked her head desperately, tears streaming down her face as he shook her.

“Witcher!” a call came from behind him.

Geralt whipped round, releasing the girl who tumbled away quickly.

“I think he’s still inside,” the short, burly barman panted, “He was helping others get out, but the roof collapsed, and I don’t think he made it.”

“Fuck,” Geralt spat, his gut clenching tight with worry.

He rolled his shoulders and marched towards the burning tavern.

“You can’t go in there!” the barman wailed after him.

“Fucking watch me,” Geralt snapped back.

He ducked through the smouldering door frame and disappeared into the flames.

It was unbearably hot and thick smog blanketed the ceiling. The air was thick with the heat, catching in his nose and lungs. The fire danced on every surface around him and he flinched when one of the beams cracked above his head. He didn’t have a lot of time before the whole building collapsed.

“Jaskier!” he shouted, bringing his hand up to try and protect his nose and mouth from the smoke.

He got no reply.

He quickly scanned the room, the burning tables and chairs, and then bundled over to the stairs. He climbed quickly, praying to any God that was listening for them to hold.

The blistering heat pressed in all around him and he could feel his lungs burning with the effort to keep breathing. He coughed, blinking against the harsh brightness of the climbing flames.

“Jaskier!” he called again, looking down the corridor that lead to the tavern’s bedchambers.

He could see where the beams had given way and part of the roof had fallen in half-way along the hall. He could just about see to the end of the corridor and his heart leaped in his chest when he spotted a figure curled up against the wall.

“JASKIER!” Geralt surged forward, taking care to avoid the flames lapping at his arms and legs from both sides.

He halted by the mound of burning timber blocking his path and peered through the gap.

“HANG ON JASKIER! I’M COMING!”,” the Witcher growled.

Jaskier lifted his head. He was black with soot and he coughed violently.

“Geralt?” he rasped, pushing himself up and stumbling towards him.

“Stay back!” Geralt warned as the ceiling groaned and a cascade of embers showered down.

Jaskier jumped back, arm coming up to protect his face. He was trembling and a hard cough had him bent double.

“Fuck,” Geralt seethed.

The Bard watched him wide-eyed as he tried to find a way through to him. He couldn’t touch the wood. Every inch was engulfed in red hot flames.

Panic set in as he heard Jaskier cough again. He didn’t know what to do.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s hoarse voice was pleading and Geralt felt his heart break.

Amber eyes met blue and Geralt could see the fear and panic that gripped the Bard.

“I’ll get you out, just hang on,” he grit his teeth.

Jaskier retched, sinking to his knees as he was overcome by the heat and the smog.

Geralt balked. He had an idea. He hated it. But it was the only thing he could think of.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called to him.

Jaskier looked up at him with defeat dulling his eyes and Geralt swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Listen,” he gruffed, “Get as far back as you can. I’m going to use Aard to get through.”

“But-“ Jaskier’s uncertain protest was interrupted by another string of coughing.

“I can do this. Trust me,” Geralt begged.

Jaskier nodded and forced himself to his feet. He retreated down the hall and pressed himself against the far wall, eyes never leaving the Witcher.

Geralt took a shaky breath and tried to focus. He couldn’t put his full power behind the Sign at risk of bringing the building down on top of them. He had to hold back, use the Sign gently, and he had never done that before.

He held his hand up towards the timbers blocking his path and arranged his fingers to cast the Sign.

He felt the surge of the spell, suppressed it, quaking with the effort, and grunted when his hand twitched but nothing else happened. He shook it off and tried again, this time letting more of the power push through and the timber shunted slightly as the gentle telekinetic wave pulsed over it.

Geralt frowned in focus. He was shaking and sweating profusely. The heat was getting to him and he knew that this would be his last chance.

He let the magic surge, capping it at the last minute, feeling the power tug at him unpleasantly, and the Sign rolled from his fingers, buffeting the timber and shifting it back enough to allow him to slip through. 

The breath he didn’t know he had been holding escaped him and he clambered through the gap to get to Jaskier.

His heart stopped when he saw the Bard face down on the slatted floor, forehead pressed to the ground, breathing sharp and shallow. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered with the effort of staying awake.

He was still alive.

Geralt scooped him up and carried him back through the gap in the timber. Jaskier curled up into Geralt’s chest, trying to make himself as small as possible so Geralt could manoeuvre with him more easily.

Geralt hated how laboured Jaskier’s breathing sounded and when the Bard coughed violently, tensing and grimacing as pain wracked his body, Geralt felt tears prick at his amber eyes.

“We’re almost out, just hang on,” he pleaded.

He hurried down the stairs then stopped dead when he looked at the entrance to the tavern. The flames had completely encased the doorframe, closing off their only exit.

Despair clawed at him as he held Jaskier close. 

This was it. The end. They were both going to die.

His knees trembled, almost giving out on him. He wasn’t scared of dying. He had accepted that fate long ago and knew it would find him sooner or later. He was scared for Jaskier. His bright, beautiful young Bard who had only lived half his life and who had so much more to give. He didn’t deserve for it to end this way. He deserved many more years of… of everything. And Geralt had wanted to be the one to give it to him. To spend as much time as he could by the Bard’s side until his cruelly short life caught up with him and he died of old age, comfortable, fulfilled, and in Geralt’s arms. 

Well, at least he’s in my arms, Geralt thought bitterly.

His throat was dry with the heat and he could feel himself weakening as the smoke curled around him, threatening to claim him.

He stared blankly at the wall of flame before him, then frowned. Through the flickering he swore he could just about see through to the outside world. 

He steadied himself, tucking Jaskier as tight to his chest as he could, then ran straight at the tavern’s entrance.

There was a moment of scorching heat and then the cool night air slapped him in the face and caught in his lungs, causing him to cough.

He fell forwards, rolling with the motion to protect Jaskier and lay there a moment on the hard ground.

“He’s out!” came a shout from somewhere close by and there were suddenly hands on him, pulling him away from the tavern and helping him to sit up.

He was still cradling Jaskier to his chest and he snarled in protest as someone prized the Bard from his arms. He reached for Jaskier, struggling to focus.

“Witcher, he’s not breathing,” a voice said in his ear and Geralt froze.

A woman, dressed in the long robes of a healer, with her hair in a simple braid over her shoulder, arranged Jaskier on his back, placed her hands on his chest, locked her elbows and started compressions.

An icy chill rolled down his spine as Geralt watched her numbly. She kept a steady rhythm, only stopping to breath into the Bard’s mouth then resuming pumping his chest. Jaskier’s head lolled from side to side with her motions, body limp and unresponsive.

“Come on,” the woman seethed.

The sudden realisation that Jaskier was dead slammed down on him and punched the air out of his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe. His body shook.

This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose Jaskier. Not now. Not when he had gotten him out.

The best and only friend Geralt had ever had. The light in his otherwise dark world. The constant, consistent force in his life that was always there for him when he needed him. His presence brought comfort and joy and laughter and Geralt couldn’t imagine having to carry on without him. He needed Jaskier, and Gods, he had never told him. Would never get to.

He stared at Jaskier who looked so small and fragile under the healer’s relentless efforts to revive him.

Geralt felt sick.

“Come on!” the woman yelled, bringing her lips to Jaskier’s once more.

Jaskier sucked in a huge breath that quickly caught in his throat and erupted in a bought of agonising coughing.

Giddy relief soared through him as Geralt threw himself to Jaskier’s side, grabbing his hand in calloused fingers and squeezing tightly.

The healer sat back, breathing hard. She helped Jaskier sit up and cast a glance at Geralt.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t let him sleep,” she rose to her feet and hurried away.

Jaskier coughed painfully and slumped forwards. Geralt caught him and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arm tightly round the Bard and holding him close.

He could feel the tremors shaking Jaskier’s smaller frame. He could hear the rattling of his breath in his chest.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he hummed, pressing his face into Jaskier’s thick hair. Underneath the stench of smoke, he could just pick out the floral scent of the soap Jaskier loved.

Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder, wheezing with each breath.

“Thanks,” he was barely audible and Geralt shifted so he could look into those watery blue eyes.

Another spate of rough coughing wracked through Jaskier and he gurned in pain, eyes fluttering.

“Stay with me Jask,” Geralt mumbled.

“It hurts,” Jaskier whined, “My chest. My lungs. It burns Geralt.”

Geralt hushed him gently, rocking him slightly as he trailed his thumb down Jaskier’s cheek.

“I’ve got you Jaskier, you’re safe now,” he rumbled.

“Like I was safe in the tavern from the Kikimora you were hunting?” there was an echo of mischief in his tone and his eyes sparkled with mirth, but both quickly disappeared when he retched again, a trail of saliva rolling down his chin.

Geralt used his sleeve to dry his chin and he returned to caressing Jaskier’s cheek softly.

He was alive. Jaskier was alive.

The happiness that bubbled in him was only kept at bay by the striking concern that lanced through him every time the Bard took a breath. He could hear Jaskier’s murmuring heart, he could feel his heat, he could practically taste his pain and vulnerability.

He glanced down at Jaskier with a warmth in his eyes that took Jaskier’s breath away.

“You okay?” the Bard asked, darting his tongue across his cracked lips.

“Hm,” Geralt hummed.

Jaskier tried to speak again but more coughing choked him. His body seized and he clawed at Geralt desperately.

“Fuck,” he wailed between snatched breaths. 

Geralt pulled Jaskier flush against him, resting his chin atop his head, holding him as the Bard clung to his arm.

He stroked a soothing hand down Jaskier’s back until he felt Jaskier relax into him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whimpered brokenly, sounding exhausted.

Before Geralt could say anything, the healer was back by his side. She popped the cap off a vial then paused, looking at the Witcher as if waiting for permission. Geralt nodded and she tilted Jaskier’s head back so she could tip the contents down his throat.

The Bard spluttered as another cough caught him off guard.

“This tonic will help to clear his lungs,” the woman glanced at Geralt, “Bring him this way. He needs to rest.”

Geralt stood slowly on unsteady legs, lifting Jaskier with him and carrying him carefully as he followed the healer. 

She led him to a small hut on the edge of the village where the fire hadn’t wreaked its destruction, and she indicated to the cot in the corner of the open room once they stepped inside.

There were many other villagers propped up against walls or sprawled on cots, each with their own ailments and injuries. 

Geralt placed Jaskier down on the cot gently and the Bard whimpered.

Jaskier coughed weakly, too exhausted to react properly to the pain that lanced through his body.

Geralt perched on the edge of the cot, worrying his bottom lip and wringing his hands.

“He’s going to be okay,” the healer reassured him, busying herself with organising herbs and remedies for her other patients.

Geralt swallowed thickly and she looked at him kindly.

“You can stay with him over night,” she offered.

Geralt nodded, rubbing his face in his hands. The woman went to tend to another villager who had a nasty burn running the length of his thigh.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice was so small that the Witcher almost missed it.

Geralt looked down at him, softness in his expression.

“Can you just…” Jaskier blinked at him slowly, “Can you just… hold me? Please?”

The rawness of his voice, the pleading look on his face, Geralt nodded swiftly and sunk onto the cot next to Jaskier, tucking his arms around him and pulling his close to his chest.  
He carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and felt the tension leave the Bard instantly.

“Do you know how long,” the Bard mumbled against his neck, “I’ve been trying to get you into my bed? And all it took was me nearly dying.”

Geralt’s chest tightened, his gentle petting of Jaskier’s hair growing still.

“Jaskier-“

“No, don’t say anything. Please. Just… just let me have this,” there was a tightness to Jaskier’s voice, a sorrow, and a wave of guilt pulled deep inside Geralt.

A cough rattled through Jaskier’s chest but nowhere near as severe as before and it wasn’t long until he settled into Geralt, breathing evening out and pulse slowing to a steady rhythm. 

Geralt held him gently as he slept, all manner of emotions reeling through him. He cared deeply about Jaskier, which was something he had only realised in the past few hours and the thought of losing him tore at his insides. He knew Jaskier cared about him too. At least as a friend. He could barely fathom that, least anything more, anything deeper. But there it was. Uttered in pained, hopeful words that swirled around and around in his head and he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to work it out. That he had needed Jaskier to literally spell it out for him. Stupid, stupid Witcher.

At least they had tomorrow, and the rest of their lives to do something about it. 

Did he love Jaskier? He was pretty sure that he did. And that thought excited him more than he could ever have imagined. 

As he listened to the bustling of the healer and the comforting sounds of Jaskier as he slept, a warmth spread through him like nothing he had ever felt before. It moved through his chest and tingled in his fingers. It spread through his gut and even down his legs.

He carefully brushed a lock of Jaskier's soot stained hair from his forehead.

He'd help Jaskier pull through this, and together, they would deal with whatever the consequences the fire presented them with. Together. 

The scent of dawn wreathed all around him and as the first glint of the sun peeked through the hut’s window, he knew that this new day was going to be the first of a brand-new adventure.


End file.
